


Magical

by TheYmp



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Artistic Liberties, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Harry Potter References, Humor, M/M, Memory Loss, Rating: PG13, Romance, Witch Curses, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 14:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16834915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYmp/pseuds/TheYmp
Summary: Dean is cursed into a magical, dream world based on the book he was mocking Sam for enjoying. Castiel is sent to the rescue, but the longer they spend in there the more their memories of the real world will wane until they too will fade away and die. They must survive the dangers of the school and conquer their fears, for how else are curses in fairy tales broken?





	Magical

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noxsoulmate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxsoulmate/gifts).



> Written for the 2018 Supernatural Reversebang Challenge on LiveJournal. 
> 
> Thanks to Noxsoulmate for the artwork prompt!
> 
> This is the _Potterverse_ as interpreted by Dean Winchester...

[](https://noxsoulmate.tumblr.com/post/180769654027/magical-this-year-i-joined-the-spn-reversebang-as)

**_"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" –_** **_Albus Dumbledore, 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows'_**

[](https://noxsoulmate.tumblr.com/post/180769654027/magical-this-year-i-joined-the-spn-reversebang-as)

The library was warm, the seats unfeasibly comfortable, and the research material far drier than even the appearance of the musty old tome gave hint to. Was it any wonder that Dean could feel himself sinking further into sleep?

He jolted sleepily as the arm supporting his head slipped, once again, from the wooden desk. Stifling a yawn, he gazed blearily at the printed incantation laid out in front of him. It was no good. He was too tired. The words seemed to blur and dance on the page in front of him. Rubbing the bridge of his nose only seemed to make things worse.

It felt like he'd been in the library _forever_ and without making any progress. _It's all Greek to me_ , he thought ruefully, suspecting he'd never make sense of it. Although, he was sure there was _someone_ who could have helped him...

He was distracted by the figure standing beside the table waiting for his attention. He frowned at the sight of the rumpled gown and equally unkempt hair as if this person had just rolled out of bed. He didn't recognize him. But that made no sense; there was _never_ anyone new here. Strange _people_ to be sure, but never any _strangers_. Whatever he'd expected this mysterious stranger to say it wasn't what came next.

"Aren't you too old to still be at school?" The speaker's voice was deep--unexpectedly so--with more than a hint of gravel, yet somehow it seemed to fit, to feel right.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but it was as if the words dried up and instead he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "We moved around lots growing up, I got held back a little, that's all," he replied, at last, the words pouring out of his mouth without having to think about them. And that was strange too, wasn't it? Why did he feel he owed this person anything? He should feel outraged, and yes maybe some embarrassment, but not this weird sense of familiarity.

"Who are you anyway?" Dean demanded. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he bunched them into fists out of sight under the table.

The stranger tilted his head, like some weird, alien puppy and stared for several moments longer than was socially acceptable, as if he was peering all the way down into Dean's soul before answering.

"Castiel," the stranger answered. He seemed to be waiting for a reaction, but it was far from the strangest name Dean had ever encountered.

"Well, _Cas_ ," spat Dean, doing his best to make it clear how unimpressed he was. "It's none of your damn business."

The evident surprise on Castiel's face was enough to embolden Dean further as he noticed the hated green piping on the other's clothing. "Why don't you go on back to your dungeon where your lot belong, and stop bothering me," he added.

Castiel's face dropped in a naked expression of shock, and he turned and scuttled away like the cockroach that all his kind where.

"Bloody _Slytherin_ ," Dean muttered with satisfaction, even while conscious of the strange shape of the words in his mouth.

~#~

Castiel opened his eyes, equally disturbed and relieved to find himself once more back in the familiar surroundings of Dean's bedroom in the Men of Letters' bunker.

Sam stirred in his seat, swinging his long legs from beneath him from where he sat curled like some great cat, and jumped to his feet. "Cas," he called, his voice harsh with urgency. "Did you find anything?"

But Castiel's attention was drawn to the still and silent body laid out on the bed beside him. He reached out, cupping Dean's face in one hesitant, reverential hand. The flesh felt cool, yet clammy beneath his touch.

Sam shifted awkwardly as he watched, his body almost visibly vibrating with impatience.

"It's like his breathing and pulse are hardly there," said Castiel instead, his voice a bare whisper. Dean was fading away, and there was nothing Castiel could do. He willed his grace out into Dean's body, to probe the pathways still familiar to him from the cell-by-cell resurrection so many years ago.

 _Nothing_.

"There's not a trace of his soul or consciousness left in him," sighed Castiel, reluctantly turning away from his patient, barely able to look Sam in the eye. "It's as if the real Dean's been scooped out of his body and sent off in a distant trajectory to some strange world of his own imagining."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He didn't know me," said the angel, visibly reining-in his distress at this least of their issues as he recounted the events that had unfolded in Dean's mind. "He didn't know _himself_. He's built up an elaborate fantasy of being a pupil in some strange, magical school."

" _Hogwarts_?" Sam asked in surprise, handing over the book he'd been reading. "It's the name of a place in the book we found him with. Was there anything else?"

Castiel nodded. "Something he called me after telling me to go to the dungeon. _Slithering_?"

" _Slytherin_ ," Sam corrected automatically. His eyes narrowed. "Cas, what House was _Dean_ in? What color was his uniform?" he clarified on seeing the confused expression on the angel's face.

Castiel closed his eyes as he thought back, an unnecessary, subconscious human gesture he'd adopted. "Red and gold," he declared.

Sam sighed. " _Gryffindor_. Funny, I'd always suspected he'd turn out to be more of a _Hufflepuff_ -"

"Does it matter?" interrupted Castiel.

"Only that you're now in opposite camps, each other's deadly enemy. Can you go back in?"

Castiel shook his head. "He pushed me out. I'm just not strong enough to hold a link open to him. Plus, it feels like it's getting worse. It's like his mind is moving further and further away from us." Frustrated, he gazed down at the book as if looking for some clue, some decisive action he could take. "Can this book really be significant?" he asked, blindly flicking through its pages.

"Possibly," answered Sam, thinking back to the previous day's events...

~#~

Irritated by Sam's noncommittal grunt to Dean's question to which he'd clearly not listened, Dean turned on the radio. The electronic wail of a classic, rock guitar riff filled the car and, recognizing the words, he sang along loudly and out of key: " _Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear. How years ago in days of old, when_ -"

Without looking up from his book, Sam reached forward and switched the radio off with a decisive flick of his fingers. "I'm trying to read," he complained.

"Oh, it speaks," Dean mocked. "What're you reading, anyway?" he asked, making one last try for conversation.

" _Harry Potter_ ," Sam grunted, holding up the book for inspection, still without looking away from it.

"Jeez, Sam. It's a children's book," laughed Dean, not hiding his derision.

"It's a modern classic," said Sam defensively, finally giving his brother some attention. "All the talk of witches and grimoires on this case just got me thinking about it, is all."

"Yeah," scoffed Dean. "And it's rubbish like _this_ that's encouraging morons to mess with things they don't understand in the first place. Modern classic my ass! I get the whole 'difficult childhood' thing, but doesn't it just seem that everyone does everything for him and yet he reaps all the rewards?"

Sam thought about it for a moment, hiding his amusement that Dean clearly _had_ read the book. "Maybe it's more that he's a catalyst to bring the talents of others together, to do what must be done?"

"I'll tell you what must be done," scoffed Dean, grabbing the book with one hand and tossing it over his shoulder. His eyes widened, and he swore in surprise as the book went sailing out through the window rather than into the backseat as he'd intend. He cleared his throat. "Yep, best place for it," he declared, switching the radio back on to drown out Sam's outraged cries.

~#~

Unfortunately for Dean, the town only had one bookstore, and a used one at that. Searching through the musty smelling stacks, his nose twitching from the dust, he wondered if it might just be easier to buy his brother a _Kindle_.

All thoughts of electronic heresy were forgotten a moment later as he pulled a fist pump of jubilation on finding a copy of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_. He was sure he'd get some serious kudos, as well as forgiveness, for presenting Sam with the British-titled version.

Taking his prize to the counter, he smirked as the sales clerk gave him a conspicuous head-to-toe appraisal. "Some say it's a modern classic, you know," he added, handing over his cash, undaunted by the clerk's sucked-lemon expression on noticing the title of the book.

"Yeah, well you have a good evening too," Dean sighed in response to the lip curl that was all he got for his trouble. Picking up his change from the counter he waved a jaunty goodbye as he made his way out and back towards the car.

The shop door's bell tinkled again behind him, and he turned at the shouted: "Wait."

"If you wanted my number you could've just asked nicely," Dean joked.

"Think you can stop me, _hunter_? Let's see how you enjoy living in a world of your derivative nonsense. _Riddikulus!_ " scoffed the shop clerk with a too-wide grin.

Dean barely saw the orange bolt of light that slammed into his chest and sent him flying, his head cracking painfully on the sidewalk.

Everything faded to darkness.

~#~

Rowena swooped into the bunker with a smug grin within mere hours of Sam calling her.

"I'm still not convinced this is the best course of action," complained Castiel quietly. "How did you summon her anyway?"

"She gave me her cell number last time she was here," Sam shrugged. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Besides, at this stage, I'm just about willing to try anything."

Castiel nodded his reluctant agreement. "What are you so cheerful about?" he demanded of Rowena. He liked to think it was the sort of thing Dean would have said.

Unperturbed, Rowena took off her coat and laid it over Castiel's arm with a condescending pat. "Be a dear and hang that up for me."

Castiel tossed the coat onto the nearest chair before following them down the corridor to Dean's room. "We don't have time for this," he growled.

"Och, but my lovelies, we _do_. I've been so _very_ busy since dear Samuel phoned me. I've already taken care of the bitches-" she giggled, the sound pure, malevolent viciousness. "-I mean _witches_." She pulled a wide, gleaming smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Turns out there was a daft, wee coven in town trying to make a power play. And you _know_ how I feel about competition."

Sam stayed quiet, but the muscles working overtime in his jaw gave away his disquiet.

"Not _you_ lot, silly. You're _no_ threat to me," Rowena laughed in a lilting voice like velvet-wrapped iron. "Well, don't all bust a gut thanking me at once-"

"That's as may be," interrupted Sam, crossing his arms. "But Dean's still under the curse," he added, his voice breaking as he pushed opened the door to his brother's room.

Rowena bustled over to the bed where Dean lay sprawled, motionless and unconscious. She placed a hand on his forehead for a moment before speaking. "That's because he's been twisted into a world of his own devising. The only one who can get him out is himself. Nasty things, dream worlds. I don't use them myself. Too much like _therapy_ ," she shuddered.

"So what, we just wait for him to wake up?" asked Sam hopefully.

Rowena scoffed. "Your brother known for his depth of personal insight, is he? No, you'll definitely need someone to go in to get him out."

"What do you mean?" demanded Castiel from his guarding position he'd instinctively taken by the doorway.

Rowena sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. "Well, as you described, on the surface he's already forgotten who he is, but the longer he's in there, the more his deeper memories will also fade and him with them. Eventually, there'll be nothing left of him, and he'll die."

"There must be something we can do," insisted Sam, his voice making it clear he'd brook no argument.

Rowena pulled a face. "Lucky for _you_ , there's always a loophole to escape from these kinds of magic. Of course, it's a nuisance from the _curser's_ perspective, but them's the rules."

Sam frowned. "What is this 'loophole'?"

"You have to figure it out," Rowena shrugged. "It varies depending on the issues of the person who's cursed. Admittedly, you're rather spoilt for choice given Dean's multitude of hang-ups."

"Okay, so can you send me into his mind?" Sam demanded.

"Of course," said Rowena. She made a show of inspecting her nails. "But why should I help you?"

"We'll make it worth your while," declared Castiel, his face coloring with anger.

Ignoring the angel, Rowena ran a pointed finger along a lingering trail down Sam's chest. "Ooh, will you? I'll hold you to that," she leered.

~#~

Sam lay flat on the bed, trying his best to relax and empty his mind. Rowena's hands shook where they hovered over Sam's body. "It's not working," she complained, sweat forming on her forehead. "He's fighting me. At least try to send him a message," she cried irritably through gritted teeth.

 _Dean, nothing's real where you are. But we're here for you,_ Sam thought, all but screaming the words in his mind. He looked to Rowena for some sign it was working. She nodded, the veins sticking out in her neck from the effort as she motioned for him to hurry.

His thoughts were fragmented and chaotic, but he managed to concentrate on a coherent message. _You need to get out before you lose all your memories_.

~#~

As usual, Dean was ensconced in the library trying to make sense of the latest volume in a sizeable pile of books for assigned class reading. He'd now read the same paragraph a dozen times and if anything he was even more confused than when he'd started. He soldiered on, even though he knew it was only a matter of time until someone realized it was all a mistake and figured out he didn't belong here.

His heart lurched at the unexpected sound of feathers that filled the quiet of the library. A snowy-white owl swooped down and settled on the back of one of the chairs opposite with a loud hoot. Dean stared at it in disbelief. It had been years since he'd last received an owl. Given that he was now effectively all alone in the world, surely the message couldn't be for him?

Retrieving and unrolling the parchment from the owl's leg he struggled to read the shaky scrawl: "Trust no one. Stranger in the library! Get out before all is lost! It rises from below!"

 _Of course_ , he snorted, _as suspected, it clearly wasn't for me_. He scribbled "return to sender" at the bottom of the note and sent the owl back on its way.

~#~

"Something's coming through," shrieked Rowena.

Sam could only hope so, although so far all he'd got was a splitting headache and a nosebleed. With pain like an icepick through his left eye-socket, he received a message in the mental equivalent of neon pink, all caps: " _SAM! DANGER! DOUBT! ANXIETY! SAMMY! DANGER!"_

"Enough," demanded Rowena. "This isn't going to work. Dean's unconscious mind is so focused on you and keeping you out of harm's way that he's actively fighting against us. And it's too much a fixed, core part of his personality to be able to overturn."

Wearily, Sam nodded his agreement.

"Instead, we need someone he'd be happier to see swoop in to rescue him." Rowena looked at Castiel pointedly. "Ready to play the knight-errant for your man?"

Castiel set his shoulders back. "I'm no white knight," he disagreed, the memories of his more recent mistakes and poor decisions still fresh in his mind. "But I'm willing to do whatever it takes," he declared to Sam who'd laid a grateful hand on his shoulder.

Rowena laughed mirthlessly. "Don't forget, your role will be twisted to fit Dean's narrative, so you'll be unable to tell him the truth outright, you'll need to _lead_ him to it." Before Castiel could react, she'd nicked the side of his throat with a short-handled blade and drew some of his grace off into a tiny, decorative glass bottle. "But maybe we can sneak in a wee something past the teacher," she added, hanging the now shining, blue amulet around his neck. "It should be just enough to give you an edge, but not too much to give you away," she announced.

~#~

Stumbling from a brief wave of dizziness, Castiel found himself in a stone-walled corridor with a high vaulted roof. Glancing down at the green trim on the robes he now wore he surmised he was still in Slytherin House. He fought back against an instinctive feeling of hurt. _Surely Dean knows that everything I've ever done is for him?_

Although, as he pondered his previous, poor introductory meeting with Dean in this dream world, there were aspects that reminded him of their very first encounter, all those years ago. He remembered his shock that a human raised from the torment of damnation wouldn't immediately drop to his knees to worship at the sight of angelic power. He felt physically sick at the unbidden memory that blossomed in his mind of demanding that same mode of worship when drunk on the power of the souls of Purgatory. The thought of Dean on his knees now made him feel... uncomfortable.

He was torn from his thoughts by the sight and sound of a flock of students running down the hall towards him, their robes flying out behind them like black, raven's wings lending them an undeserved air of menace. With a pang of loss and regret, he realized one of the pupils looked just like Charlie. Her red hair was unmistakable but, like her double from the other universe, appearance was nothing without the friendship born of shared experience.

"Did you hear, there's a new professor for _Defense Against the Dark Arts_?" she announced to the rest of the group as they gathered around Castiel.

 _It is a school_ , thought Castiel. He supposed it made sense that there would be lessons, no matter how strange.

"Again? Someone ought to complain to the Headmaster," declared one of the boys within the group. Castiel couldn't repress the bone-deep shudder that the sight of Metatron's double produced.

"Good luck with that," scoffed Dean, who by some miracle appeared standing at the core of the group. "No one's seen him for ages."

Castiel took advantage of the distracted buzz of gossip caused by the topic of discussion, to push his way through the crowd until he was right up in front of Dean. "Listen to me," he demanded, grabbing hold of Dean's arm for emphasis. "This world isn't real. You're dreaming, you must wake up."

He watched in frustration as Dean's face went blank and his eyes glazed over. Dean made a faint gasp of indrawn air, and Castiel could feel the thin tendrils of the enchantment flex and tighten around them.

Dean's face twisted in anger and he threw off Castiel's hold. "You Slytherin are always up to something, there's always some scheme with you lot, isn't there? Just stay away from me, or there'll be trouble."

Mortified, Castiel stepped back. While Dean seemed changed, somehow muted, under the spell, that red-hot anger was all too familiar. Violently reassuring when aimed at a common foe, it was not so much fun when you became the object of that wrath.

He was saved from any further confrontation as he was swept along by the crowd as they trouped into the classroom and found seats at old-fashioned school desks complete with inkwells. Castiel's daring, but failed, attempt to push past a doppelgänger of Garth to claim a place beside Dean, instead earned him twin scowls for his trouble.

"Good morning, class," came the loud, accented greeting from the front of the room. "My name is Professor MacLeod, and I'll be covering for today's lesson."

Charlie raised a hand. "What happened to Professor Snape?" she asked eagerly, not waiting to be called.

"Och, something suitably unpleasant, I'm sure," answered Rowena with a knowing, ear-to-ear grin while looking resplendent in her long, fitted, black robe and pointed hat.

~#~

"A word, please, before you go, Castiel," called Professor MacLeod on disbanding the lesson.

Given she was a substitute teacher, Castiel judged she'd ruled the class with a steely grasp and sharp tongue beneath what otherwise appeared a fun and flighty exterior. Her insights into effective visualization techniques for disrupting curses had been fascinating but, as a skeptical Charlie had raised earlier to an unimpressed glare, not something he was sure was actually on the syllabus.

He cocked his head and stared at her in confusion. "Professor?" He wondered if he'd done something wrong. It had been punishment enough when she'd changed the seating plan and reassigned working partners for this and all the other classes. He'd never heard of such a thing in all his years at Hogwarts.

"I had no idea I was so... _pneumatic_... in Dean's eyes," Rowena cooed with mild amusement, smoothing the tightly-cinched gown across her curves, before reaching out to stroke the blue amulet that hung around Castiel's neck.

Castiel shocked gasp morphed into something else as his memories came flooding back. "I can't believe how quickly I forgot who I was," he choked.

"Well, I can't stay much longer, I need to be off before the Head finds out I'm impersonating a teacher. And you need to get your new 'study buddy' out of here," hissed Rowena, half-an-eye on the door. "I've set things in motion, but the rest is up to you."

Ominous-sounding bells chimed in the distance.

"Better run, you're already late for your next lesson," winked Rowena as she slowly faded from view.

~#~

Castiel had to keep reminding himself that Herbology wasn't really his favorite class - not to mention that he didn't even really attend Hogwarts. He was reasonably sure he'd only been here a handful of days in total, although it was increasingly difficult to tell.

" _Care of Magical Creatures_ ," said Dean.

Castiel was so surprised by the sudden, freely-given words addressed to him that it took a moment for him to process that they made no sense. "I'm sorry?" he asked, wary that he might drive Dean away after months-- _no, days?_ \--of trying and failing to ingratiate himself with the man.

"You kept muttering that this is your favorite lesson," explained Dean. "Mine's _Care of Magical Creatures_ , although that's probably more because Professor Singer's such an awesome teacher."

Castiel blinked as he processed the information, not sure if the memories of the chaotic but fun and informative lectures were real or imagined. _What does it matter?_ he realized a moment later. _None of this is real anyway_.

"Yes, although I think I prefer the more academic classes," considered Castiel, nodding, "but Bobby is a good man once you get past the gruff exterior."

Dean gave him an odd, evaluating look that Castiel couldn't decipher. "Well, you seem to have a way with the animals; they trust you," Dean added cryptically.

"As they do you," replied Castiel, amused by a memory of a deer-like animal that, during a previous lesson, wouldn't come to anyone other than Dean.

"Just as well, books have never really been my thing - don't tell Madam Pince I said that or she'll never let me back in the library again."

"You do seem to like it in there," noted Castiel. "For someone who says they don't like books you would appear to spend a lot of your time with them."

"Reminds me of home, I guess," admitted Dean. "Plus, I don't _hate_ books. It just that studying was always more..." Dean trailed off and frowned. "My brother's thing?" he concluded with a confused expression, making the statement a question.

"Tell me about your brother," prompted Castiel, almost breathless from the fantastic progress they'd made. He could almost see the memories rising to the surface of Dean's consciousness.

"Quiet at the back," hollered Professor Sprout. "Or I'll send you down to the Headmaster!" she threatened, subduing them all into immediate silence. "Now, class; I'm sure you've heard about the idea of the language of flowers, well in this lesson you'll be conjuring flowers to communicate a message to your partner."

Dean pulled an exaggerated grimace and turned to the plant pots in front of them, scowling at the provided scroll of instructions as if they had personally offended him.

Castiel's amusement and affection for his favorite human faded as he focused on the immediate, but lesser task at hand. He gritted his teeth at the lost opportunity; he'd been _so_ close.

There was a decidedly firm _harrumph_ from behind him, while the sharp tap of a wand on his shoulder brought his attention to a waiting, grumpy Professor Sprout.

"Sometime today, if you don't mind, please gentlemen," scolded Sprout impatiently, her voice thick with the looming threat of detention.

Dean and Castiel jumped to it. _No one_ wanted to get sent to the Headmaster. They made a show of reading the printed instructions that seemed to go some way to mollifying the teacher. They waved their wands and recited the spell together that by some fluke couldn't have been more in unison if they had practiced. All three watched in hushed amazement as two sets of green tendrils erupted from the soil and burst into flowery bloom.

"Well, well, well. Roses, eh?" Sprout muttered to the pair, her voice set low so as not to carry to the rest of the class. "I see I shall have to keep my eye on you two. No funny business in class," she added with a definite twinkle in her eyes.

"Hmm, the white rose represents truth and reverence," she said louder, for the benefit of the others in the potting shed as she admired the flower while flashing a winning smile in Castiel's direction.

"Ooh, and a Chartreuse rose," she cooed in admiration at the lime-green petals conjured by Dean. "That's not often seen. Any ideas, class? Anyone?"

"Jealousy, miss?" offered Metatron.

Sprout chuckled, deep within her chest. "No green-eyed monster here, just a green-eyed young man! No, this is life, growth and the renewal of spirit." She patted Dean on the shoulder. "Very nice, dear. Ten points for Gryffindor!"

Castiel was pleased with the way Dean turned and looked at him with new eyes. It was like he was really seeing him for the first time since they'd been in this nightmare. Something in his chest shifted and loosened as he realized how much he'd missed the depth of that gaze.

~#~

Dean curled up in his favorite corner of the library. Madam Pince had popped by on the pretext of checking that he wasn't eating, but he was sure he'd finally cracked that particular nut, and she was just ensuring he was okay.

 _Well, it has been at least a couple of months since she last threatened me with the wrath of the Headmaster, so that's progress,_ he thought. _Never let it be said that Dean Winchester can't turn on the charm when it's needed_. He suspected that the depth of that need was writ larger on his face than he'd care to consider, hence the hovering.

As much as he'd always wanted to come here, he just wasn't sure Hogwarts was for him. Certainly, it was better than the life he'd had before; forever on the move, never setting down roots, or making friends. School had never been his thing either, but seriously sometimes the lessons he attended here made no sense to him no matter how much he studied.

Point of fact were the words and letters that danced on the page in front of him. He pushed the book away in frustration. Still, with magical texts, you could never be sure, hence the need to chain them up at night. One day, though, he was sure he would find the right book and all would be revealed to him.

"Until then, I guess I'm just a crappy student," he muttered, picking the book back up for another try. It wasn't in his nature to give up-- _Winchester's go down swinging_ \--and he was sure his family was proud of him anyway, it's just maybe they didn't like to show it.

His dad had always played his cards close to his chest while his brother no doubt had his own issues now that he was the sole recipient of that paternal attention. Boy, he didn't envy his brother, but it still would have been nice to have received some message or call, even if they couldn't visit due to the distance and the cost of travel involved.

He smiled at Madam Pince as she fluttered by again, shelving another book. While he seemed to have ingratiated himself with the staff, he'd struggled with the other pupils. _Although Cas sure seems nice enough... for a Slytherin,_ he considered.

As if on cue, Castiel wandered into the library and made a bee-line for him.

 _Speak of the devil_ , Dean thought, not fully paying attention to what his classmate, and new, permanent shadow, was speaking about at length. _Something about proving himself?_

"I'm sure I saw something in that _Philosopher's Stone_ book about the restricted section containing dark magic," repeated Castiel, dragging Dean towards the roped-off area of the library.

"Sorry, I don't understand that reference," Dean complained, his brow furrowed as his memory refused to co-operate. Despite his confusion, for reasons he couldn't quite understand, he still allowed himself to be steered along towards the forbidden section.

"What better way to fight fire than with fire?" muttered Castiel as he guided them through the maze-like shelves.

Dean could think of several, but it didn't stop him from ducking under the flimsy rope barrier, trotting along behind his friend, and even holding the selected dark texts as they were handed to him.

"Why are we here, again?" he asked, although this complaint was more a formality as he felt happier and more content than he had in a long time.

Before Castiel could explain, a loud, attention-seeking cough emanating from deeper within the book stacks made them stop and turn.

"Hello, boys," said a low, mocking voice. It was Professor Crowley. He was holding a large, dark-magic grimoire in both hands which he made a show of lifting up to his face and inhaling. "Ah, I do love the smell of that old forbidden knowledge," he sighed. He slammed the book shut in a sudden movement that echoed shockingly loud given the otherwise silence of the library, startling both Dean and Castiel.

"Now, I'm assuming you _don't_ have a permission slip to be here," Crowley smirked. He paused long enough to fully enjoy the sight of them failing to think up a suitable excuse. "No, I didn't think so. Off to the Headmaster with you. Chop chop!" he cried, clapping his hands for emphasis.

Dean hoped those words weren't a premonition of the fate awaiting them.

~#~

The school's architecture was beautiful, but it was also a labyrinth-like warren of corridors and rooms that followed its own tortured logic. The constant twists and turns and reliance on moving staircases made no sense to Castiel, but luckily Dean could seemingly navigate it paths with ease.

So it was hardly surprising that they were almost halfway to the Headmaster's office before Castiel noticed the route was taking them further and further down and deeper into the castle. He belatedly realized that the comments from the fictional characters around them had explained the Headmaster was seldom seen outside of the dungeon.

He suspected that now they were getting to the heart of the matter. In retrospect, it felt like they had been circling this particular eventuality for some time. He put his hand on the charm around his neck, the faint pulsing of the angelic grace within an immediate comfort, strengthening both his resolve and his memories of himself.

"You do that a lot," commented Dean, clearly nervous and looking for any excuse to delay the inevitable.

"I suppose I do," said Castiel looking down at the shining blue amulet around his neck. "It gives me strength."

Dean smiled. "It's nice... it brings out your eyes..." He trailed off, cheeks reddening on realizing the words that had left his mouth. "I have one too," he muttered, fumbling to loosen his collar and tie, before reaching into the neck of his shirt and pulling out a golden-colored talisman on a leather cord.

For a moment Castiel wondered if it was the horned totem from years ago. It wasn't, but the similarity was striking. "Where do I recognize the design from?" he asked, his intrigue making him forget himself, and he reached out to cup the amulet in the palm of his hand. He hesitated, it seemed strangely intimate, but he didn't let go.

"It's supposed to be a snitch--you know, from _Quidditch_ \--but without the wings. I, er, I don't really... do heights. It's a gift from my brother," said Dean, rubbing the back of his neck. "He always used to say that it might not be able to fly, but it's still worthwhile."

Castiel smiled at the sight of Dean's face transformed, softened, by the action of remembering the past. "You mentioned him before," he prompted. "You miss him very much."

Dean nodded, averting glistening eyes. Retrieving the golden amulet to tuck it back inside his shirt, he resumed their previous, snail-like progress towards punishment.

Moved, but otherwise unsure what to say, Castiel walked alongside in silence. Almost of its own accord, his hand snaked out and found a companion in Dean's warm, calloused grasp. The pace faltered but picked up a moment later, the tightening of the reciprocal grip the only comment.

On reaching their eventual destination they hovered outside the Headmaster's office, trading worried glances.

"Let's get this over with," sighed Castiel, knocking three times on the old, dark-stained, wooden door.

Waiting beside him, Dean looked both too hot and too cold with the way he was sweating and shaking like he had a fever. Castiel knew this man with a surety only an angel could lay claim to. He had rebuilt Dean's body from the cells up and had fought tooth and nail in battle beside him. They had shared the dizzying emotional highs of celebration and the deepest lows of despair and commiseration. From the way Dean was now fidgeting, repeatedly shifting from foot to foot and stretching out his shoulders, Castiel knew he shared the same ill-omened sense of dread.

The heavy door swung open with the slow, low squeal of old, rusty hinges that was everything he'd come to expect from both his nightmares and old horror films. Castiel's blood ran cold.

 _Alastair_.

He had wondered if the Headmaster might be revealed to be Dean's father, but in a figurative sense he supposed it actually was. In many ways, the demon _had_ shaped and molded Dean into his own image in a grisly parody of rebirth. He shouldn't have been surprised to discover that this was the unpleasant spider at the center of this surreal web of lies and angst and enchantment.

"Ah, so nice of you to come visit me at last," said the Headmaster on seeing them from his seat behind a wide, cluttered, wooden desk. His voice was harsh and grated like a metal rasp over the skin of their ears. "Come in, come in."

The door slammed shut behind them with a booming echo. Castiel hadn't even been aware of stepping through it.

"So, tell me why you're here," said Alastair, not looking up from the document in front of him other than to cast an occasional glance at a large, freestanding, wooden-framed mirror to one side. He dipped a long quill in a pot of ink and proceeded to write. The sharpened nib of the feather scratched across the parchment maddeningly loud in the otherwise silence.

"Professor Crowley sent us," answered Dean, his voice shaking. "We were in the forbidden section."

"It was my idea, I made Dean do it," said Castiel, momentarily slipping into character.

"Of course you did. Isn't it everyone's secret wish to remake others in their own image? _Give me a child until he is seven and I will show you the man_ ," quoted Alastair, the teeth of his feral smile glinting in the multicolored candlelight refracted by the mirror. "But you're in my domain now, and I can read your thoughts as clear as my own handwriting," he added, gesturing to the scroll in front of him. "And you forget, Castiel. He was _mine_ first and for a lot longer than he was _yours_."

Castiel eyes flicked to the now silent companion by his side. Dean stood frozen in place, his eyes wide and glassy, his skin pale and waxy.

"Always snatching away my toys," complained Alastair in a sing-song voice, his tone pure poison and faux-petulance as he got to his feet and walked around the desk towards them. "And, once again you're down here plotting to drag Dean back to a world from which he only wants to escape."

"What!?" cried Dean, now restored back to life.

"Oh, did he not tell you?" smiled Alastair, the expression somehow so much more unsettling than his frown. "He wants you for his own purposes," he leered, running a long, jagged fingernail-tipped finger down Dean's cheek. "But don't they always? They all seem to want something; burying you in their demands and burdening you with unwanted responsibility."

Dean frowned, his mesmerized gaze flicking towards Castiel before he was drawn once more back to the demonic headmaster.

"Never allowed to live your own life," continued Alastair, his smile growing wider. "Forced to fight for others with no rest, no relief. Everyone treating you like a _tool_ to be _used_."

"And you won't?" scoffed Castiel. He could feel the weight of Alastair's words striking against his skin, the slime trail in their wake seeking to bind and confuse. He tried to focus on pushing back at the strange enchantment, but it took all his concentration.

Alastair grin was terrible; all long, sharp teeth stained red by the dim light. "Oh, I'll give him what he wants, what he _knows_ he deserves." He turned to stare longingly into the large mirror behind his desk.

"What he deserves is to be free of this place; to be free of _you_. To be with his family," declared Castiel, grinding out the words. He reached out and grasped Dean's hand, but it was cold and unresponsive. _Like a dead thing_.

Alastair forced out a laugh that grated on the ears like fingernails on a chalkboard. "Where are these 'family'? His parents always put the hunt first. And where is his _Sammy_?" he asked, still staring at the reflection of Dean in the mirror.

Castiel felt Dean jolt at the mention of the name. "He couldn't come," admitted Castiel struggling to answer as the words, meant more for Dean than the _monster_ in front of them, stumbled from his lips.

"Why?" asked Alastair, his voice like velvet, insinuating. He hadn't moved other than to turn back to face them, but it felt to Castiel like he was now towering over them.

"Dean was keeping him out," Castiel answered in the barest whisper, only now realizing he was being _compelled_ to respond.

"And why would he do that if these familial bonds are so strong?" asked Alastair, tapping his chin with one finger, a fake look of confusion plastered across his face. "Now, some may say I'm getting too soft, giving your free rein in my school," he continued, switching his attention back to Dean. "But I think, in time, you'll realize where you _really_ belong... down here, with _me_."

There was a long pause, marked only by Dean's shallow, shuddering breaths.

"Do we understand each other?"

Castiel seethed, but the unseen magics in the room were too wild, too strong and he was frozen in place, too weak to do more than make a token gesture by fighting the near-overwhelming compulsion to answer.

"Y-yes," Dean stuttered out.

"Yes, _what?_ " probed Alastair, his eyes alight with glee.

"Yes, sir," answered Dean, his face made slack and blank.

Castiel's stomach dropped at the words. There was power in consent, and this total submission was not in character. In of itself, it was a disturbing indication of the extent of the Headmaster's control over him.

"Good boy," said Alastair with a smile that did nothing but show the sharpness of his teeth. "Now, run along," he snarled.

The room moved around them in a blur. Once more Castiel and Dean were standing outside the heavy, closed wooden door of the Headmaster's office.

Dean stumbled in place, catching himself in time. He looked dazed. "Well, that was... intense," he decided at last.

 _Anyone watching wouldn't have seen anything happening, and yet the whole time there was a palpable sense of menace and violence barely restrained_ , thought Castiel, his heart still pounding. Coming down from the adrenaline rush, he felt weak, his muscles shaking as if they'd fought a long, epic battle.

_And lost._

"What is it about the Headmaster that makes him so scary?" wondered Dean. "He's not particularly big or imposing. Most of what he says makes no sense to me..."

Castiel suspected that on some level Dean did understand it, just not on the surface.

"Actually, now it all kinda seems like a bit of a blur," continued Dean. "Although..." A faint frown took root on his face and grew into an accusatory look that was directed at Castiel. "All this time I thought you were my friend, but you were plotting behind my back. I should've known."

"What? Wait, no, that's not how it is," declared Castiel reaching out, trying to grab hold of Dean before he got away.

Dean ducked to the side, twisting his shoulder to pull it out of Castiel's grasp. "Well, that's how it sounded," he scoffed. The anger on his face seemed to grow exponentially, the evil seeds of Alastair's words clearly taking root in the ripe, fertile soil of his mind. "Just, leave me alone!"

Distraught, Castiel could only watch Dean's departing back and ponder his next move.

~#~

In the days that followed, Castiel could feel his memories leaking away faster, and he struggled to remember his true purpose. The blue amulet, which he now didn't dare remove for even an instant, shone less and less each morning. The level of its content was now a scant quarter of what it had been at the start.

Following their falling out, the change in Dean's mood was reflected in subtle ways in the environment of the dream world around them. The season was most definitely turning to fall with a sharp chill in the air. Pupils were now instructed to always travel between classes in pairs--made more challenging by the moving staircases growing ever more erratic--as the numbers of vengeful spirits roaming the corridors increased. Not that Castiel particularly missed Metatron, but it had been rather a bloody and violent end.

At the front of the classroom, Professor Crowley droned on with his lecturing - at least there was one person who liked the sound of his voice. Although the name of the subject being taught had changed at some point to 'Charms _and_ _Contracts.'_

"Remember, that in many cases your ability to mold the underlying chaos of the universe to your will is dependent on consistently following certain rules," continued Crowley, his eyes flashing red from the candlelight of the classroom.

"So a wizard's word should be his bond?" asked Dean, turning mid-question to glare at Castiel.

"Sometimes there's a deeper or more important reason at play," snapped Castiel.

"Ah, the means justify the end. _Very Slytherin_ ," Crowley nodded approvingly. "Five points." A chill fluttered up Castiel's spine at both the endorsement and its source.

"But no, that's not quite what I meant," continued Crowley. "There's no morality needed for magic. After all, was _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ good?"

"No," responded Dean and Castiel in unison, along with most of the rest of the class.

"Correct! He was a powerful wizard, but there were circumstances where even he was forced to honor some of the promises he'd made to his followers. No, it's the structure of the contract that crystallizes the magic into being and makes it stronger. It's why demons, so usually untrustworthy will follow a contract to the letter. It's not about fair play, we just want your soul." He cleared his throat to cover his slip, before recovering. "Of course, it takes a true genius to write such a contract that its true meaning escapes all but the greatest scrutiny," he smirked.

Castiel frowned as an unbidden memory of something Rowena had said came to mind. He clutched at the amulet beneath his shirt. "And do all enchantments contain a get-out clause?"

Crowley hesitated at the tone, seeming to grow cold at the question being asked. "Unfortunately, it's part of the universe requiring _balance_." The way he spat the final word left no room for mistaking his contempt for the concept. "Like a safety valve, it prevents the enchantment from bursting under its own pressure."

"So, such a loophole should be difficult to hide, something well-protected," pondered Castiel aloud.

Misunderstanding the intent behind the words, Crowley nodded enthusiastically, his former icy tone forgotten. "With a mindset like that, I think there might be a future job in magical corporate law for you. They're less like Muggle lawyers, and more like actual sharks... if sharks were more like _Dementors_."

Dean looked disgusted, but Crowley beamed. "Keep up that attitude, and you'll fit right in!"

~#~

"Dean, wait!" called Castiel, struggling through the crush of the other students all trying to escape from Crowley's classroom at the end of the period.

Dean was half-way down the corridor, far beyond reach, but at the sound of his name he stopped to wait for Castiel but didn't turn around. Castiel's initial pleasure faded at the sight of the high set of the shoulders facing him. He could practically hear Dean's teeth grinding, so it was with some trepidation that he came to stand face-to-face with him.

"So which one are you?" asked Dean, his voice dipping deeper with the heat of his anger. "Shark or Dementor?"

Castiel had to stifle a nervous laugh. It was both joyful and intimidating to see the man standing before him bristling with such anger. This was the real Dean of old, sparking like a livewire, no longer a lost shadow of a facsimile. Moving with slow deliberation, he carefully laid his hand on Dean's left shoulder and gripped tight. Dean's eyes widened, the red flush from his temper draining from his face to be replaced with something else.

Castiel didn't even have time to gasp as Dean lurched forward, grabbed him in a painful hold and manhandled him through the nearest door. A final, solid shove sent him colliding face-first into the tiny cleaning closet's opposite wall.

"What are you doing?" Castiel demanded, his own ire raised.

"Quiet," Dean ordered in a low hiss, pulling the door firmly shut behind him. "It was the Bloody Baron and his contingent coming up behind you. I know you're Slytherin too, but after what happened to Metatron..."

Castiel nodded, and they both listened at the door, straining to hear what was happening outside in the corridor. There were several shrill screams of alarm and the sounds of running footsteps fading into the distance.

Remembering himself, and his training, with a start, Castiel reached into his robes and pulled out a container. He proceeded to tip its white crystalline contents across the threshold of the door.

"What's that?" asked Dean, his voice pitched low. Something unexplained passed across his face. "Salt?"

Shamefaced at not thinking of it sooner, Castiel nodded. "Someone very close taught me it keeps evil at bay." He blushed at the words that highlighted how they were pressed up against each other in the tight confines of the closet.

"Nothing scares you, does it?" insisted Dean, pressing closer, his voice full of daring and wonder but perhaps also a hint of something sour.

Castiel swallowed. He was sure it was so loud as to draw the attention of the murderous spirits outside. He could feel Dean's breath on his cheek and see his own reflection in the man's eyes, the pupils blown presumably from the dim lighting. _There's always a certain frisson_ , thought Castiel, his body responding with a shiver that was part nervousness, part excitement, _of seeing so much black in his eyes_. "On the contrary," he insisted, pushing himself further into Dean's personal space. "I'm in a constant state of fear for the wellbeing of the ones I care for." The possessive flick of his gaze left no doubt as to whom that was.

Castiel couldn't hear Dean's reply over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears. He wondered if his host body, one he'd been through so much in, was finally failing him. He hoped not, he'd grown accustomed to his assumed body and gender--as had Dean. It might not be very angelic, but the thought of a new host and the possible reactions of others to it made him squirm with anxiety.

The temperature in the airless closet soared. It was too small to fit them for long, no matter how tightly they were wrapped around one another. Since the very first time Castiel had taken hold of his charge, he'd been unwilling to let go. That wasn't going to change now.

"Cas," sighed Dean, the name more an invocation in the hollow of Castiel's neck.

Even now, with the full lips of his host tingling in anticipation of imminent contact, he couldn't help but fret about the wellbeing of his best friend and former charge. _Is it ethical to pursue a relationship with a human, with one who is under a malign influence, and who may later object to the accident of our genders?_

The closet door burst open, the daylight streaming in was blinding in its intensity.

"Oh, by Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Professor Sprout. "I've found them, they're still alive!"

~#~

Dean stormed over to where Castiel was sitting studying in the library but then ruined the effect by hovering in place and chewing on his fingers. "Did you mean what you said?" he demanded.

Castiel tightened the grip on the book he was reading, his knuckles turning white, but otherwise giving no indication he'd heard. He kept his eyes on the page although he could no longer concentrate on the words written there. "About what?" he asked, relenting at last, but still refusing to look up as a small matter of personal pride. _Of course I relented,_ he thought, _when have I ever been able to deny him anything?_

"About being in a constant state of fear," continued Dean, stumbling over the words as he tried to disguise that his voice was breaking. He cleared his throat and tried again in a deeper register. "For the wellbeing of the ones you care about."

If Dean seemed more emotional than usual, then, in contrast, Castiel felt strung out and manic. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. He didn't really feel any better. Now his eyes found Dean's and he couldn't bring himself to look away even if his life had depended on it. Given the way his memories of their real-lives were fading, he suspected that their lives _did_ depend on it.

"Some say that when you save a life, you become responsible for that person for the rest of their life," said Castiel, choked at the memory of pulling Dean's beautiful, shimmering soul from the foul muck of Hell. He suspected that would be the last memory to go. "And many cultures say that when you save a life, you save the whole world. With you I've done both, literally," he said, feeling as if the words had been physically ripped from his chest.

Dean frowned, his eyes glazing over just a little before his expression relaxed. "You're kinda intense and _nerdy_ , you know that? Are you _sure_ you're a Slytherin?"

Castiel barked out a laugh. "I have to confess I was surprised at how that turned out, but then it's not like I really feel like I belong _here_ ," he added, keeping his face carefully blank, while his gestures encompassed their surroundings.

Dean nodded, without appearing to have really absorbed the deeper meaning of the words being said to him. "Tell me about it, it's not easy holding the new record for the longest ever hat stall, I can tell you. Everyone said I was gonna get Sorted into Gryffindor, I don't know why. I was so sure I was going to get Hufflepuff instead," he said, sounding a little disappointed with the outcome.

"You're hardworking and loyal; you'd have fitted right in," agreed Castiel, seeing an opening and going for it. "Everything that you've done for your family. Think of your brother," he urged, distraught to realize that he himself was no longer able to remember Sam's appearance beyond a vague image of great height and apple-scented, leonine hair.

"I think we would have _both_ fitted in there," Dean mused. "Maybe even got on better without all that House rivalry."

Something clicked in Castiel's mind, and he struggled to hold on to the thought. "There's always a _loophole_ ," he recited to himself, his words little more than a whisper. "Of course! You _had_ to be Gryffindor--the House known for courage--plus it fits in with the narrative of having a nemesis in an opposite House. You said yourself, you found the Headmaster frightening-"

Dean forced a cough even as the tips of his ears flushed red, "-Ah, well, that's more an expression. I wouldn't say _frightening_ as such-"

"-You even have an amulet to remind you that you're still worthwhile. It's _definitely_ got to be something about the Headmaster!" finished Castiel, with a triumphant smile, unmindful of the interruption.

Madam Pince, looking even more sour-faced than usual, was approaching with arms crossed in anger, but wand still held at the ready. "Out!" she hissed.

"I've no idea what you're going on about, but we need to get outta here," said Dean, dragging Castiel by the arm.

"Don't worry, we're going," laughed Castiel, at the unimpressed librarian, feeling lightheaded with exuberance.

As far as he was concerned, the end was in sight.

~#~

"What are you doing?" hissed Dean, following Castiel along the corridor away from the library, getting involved despite what his better nature was warning. "We're gonna get caught."

"I don't care," declared Castiel. "I'm not going to just leave you, and this has all gone on long enough. Plus, if I stay any longer, I'm going to forget why I'm even here. I need to face the Headmaster _now_."

"What?" spluttered Dean. "You can't do that on your own."

Castiel smiled. "Come with me, then." Feeling daring he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on Dean's cheek.

Several conflicting expressions ran fleetingly across Dean's face, culminating in wonder as he raised a hand to touch the site of the welcome, but unexpected, sign of affection. "I can't, he terrifies me. I'm not as brave as you."

Castiel snorted, he was sure that neither of them truly believed that, it was just Dean being gallant. "He terrifies me too," he admitted. "We'd be crazy _not_ to be terrified of him. Besides, it's facing our fears that makes us brave."

They arrived outside the Headmaster's office and the heavy oak door that somehow seemed so ominous. Castiel tried the door. "Locked," he observed.

Dean sighed with evident relief. "He's probably at dinner in the main hall. Where we should be." His stomach growled in sympathy. "Someone said they might have pie. And they _never_ have pie."

"Not so fast," said Castiel, reaching into his pocket to retrieve two large paper clicks. He used the door to help bend them into the desired shapes before twisting them into the lock itself. A moment later with a satisfying click, the door opened.

"That was awesome! How did learn how to do that?" asked Dean, his apprehension momentarily dwarfed by his astonishment.

"Would you believe me if I said it was _you_ that taught me?" grinned Castiel, stepping into the room.

"At this point, I'll believe pretty much anything," scoffed Dean. He watched Castiel poke around the room for a while. "What are you looking for?"

Castile crossed the room to rummage through the Headmaster's desk. "Anything that might help us to get out of here," he answered, pulling his amulet from out under his shirt and using the shining blue light to help illuminate the scattered papers.

They both turned at the sound of cruel laughter from the office door.

"Well, you won't find the answer there all nicely written out for you," chuckled Alastair.

Instinctively, Dean and Castiel retreated to stand by each other's side, the table firmly between them and the Headmaster.

"Oh Dean, Dean, Dean. You need to accept there's no escape and give yourself over to me," purred Alastair, drawing nearer to them. "As much as I've enjoyed all this controlled chaos at my fingertips, do you think I could even exist here if at some level I hadn't been invited in?"

Bristling with anger, Dean angled himself so he was in front of Castiel. "Well, I never invited you."

"Are you sure? Not even some shameful little part of you that wants to submit?" he wheedled, taking another couple of steps that brought him almost up to the desk. His smirk grew wider as Dean's face burned red with embarrassment. "See, I know you; you've given yourself over to me before. You need a firm hand, and I'm more than willing to give it to you."

Castiel pushed himself past Dean. "It's not a crime to need something, to give in under torture, or accept that you're vulnerable," he retorted. He turned his attention back to Dean. "But isn't it better to be loved? You still don't accept you're worth saving, do you?" he said with a sad smile.

Dean nodded his head. "Yes, I do," he clarified, taking Castiel's hand in his own. Together as one, they faced the Headmaster.

"Now you're just hurting my feelings," pouted Alastair. "Did our time together in the Pit mean nothing to you?"

"Y'know, I'm starting to remember some stuff. A whole other life," said Dean. "But you? Not so much. I guess you just didn't make the grade. What can I say; it's me, not you?"

In the blink of an eye, Alastair's arm stretched across the table and had Dean by the throat, a flick of the wand in his other hand sending Castiel flying across the room. Dean choked, his legs kicking in the air, as Alastair tightened his grip and lifted him higher.

"Silly boy, you can't get rid of me," sneered Alastair. "I'm your _shadow_ , I'm part of you."

Castiel staggered towards them, limping on one leg, his face covered in blood from a cut in his scalp. He held out his glowing blue amulet towards Alastair. "With enough light, you can keep shadows at bay," he proclaimed. "We don't have to give in to the darkness within."

Alastair curled his lip. "You can barely stand. Every moment that passes you grow weaker," he sneered, but he released his grip on Dean, who slumped to the ground. He backed up a few steps until he was out of range of the blue light and assumed a defensive posture, wand at the ready. "You can't stand against me forever."

Castiel spat to clear the blood from his mouth. "Maybe, but there's two of us," he said, moving forward and using his free hand to help Dean back up to his feet.

"Three," corrected Dean, retrieving his own amulet from around his neck and holding it aloft. It glowed with a faint golden light that proceeded to grow stronger. "And I know he'll be there for me, if I'd only let him. Actually, I seem to recall now that he killed you before."

Dean grinned at Castiel, and in that moment they both noticed how the amulets glowed brighter the closer they were to each other. In unspoken union they let them touch.

All were unprepared for the arcs of blue and gold lightning that exploded into life and combined to form a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. For a second there was a suggestion of majestic antlers, but it condensed and solidified into a large snowy owl. The bird screeched as it flew straight at Alastair, striking him at point-blank range in the chest before he could react. There was a blinding, burst of light so dazzling that it filled every corner of the room and left Dean and Castiel blinking to restore their vision.

Alastair was nowhere to be seen.

"He's gone," rasped Dean through his bruised throat, overwhelmed by all that had happened.

"He was just a shadow," answered Castiel with a shrug. "He was never even real."

Dean let out an explosive breath. "Now what?" he asked, looking around the devastated room. There were overturned chairs and books and papers everywhere. He pointed at the large mirror beside the desk that Alastair had seemed so obsessed with during their previous visit. "Look it's our reflections, but they're the wrong way round! It's like I'm reflecting you, weird." He struggled to read the nonsensical inscription in the wooden frame. "Erised stra ehru oy... oh, I give up."

Too exhausted to care about cheap parlor tricks, Castiel gave Dean a pleading look. "Come on," he said quietly. "We're done here. It's time you woke up."

And so they did.

~#~

"Are you _sure_ you _really_ don't remember anything that happened to you?" asked Sam, handing his brother another beer with a skeptical look.

"No, uh-uh, not a thing," replied Dean. He took a deep draught of the beer and gave a satisfied belch. "Ah, man, that hits the spot. You don't know what it was like not being allowed to drink."

Sam frowned. "Hey, I thought you said-"

Dean carried on speaking. "And I can't believe Cas and I were only under for a couple of days. So what did you and the _Wicked Witch of the West_ get up to while we were gone?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

" _Oi!_ You'd still be in there if it wasn't for me," protested Rowena, looking up from the armchair where she was curled up and reading through one of the bunker's many spellbooks.

Sam rolled his eyes but was too sensible to otherwise react and thereby encourage his brother.

"It all just seems like a strange dream now," admitted Castiel, rushing to fill the silence and head off any risk of further argument. "It's beginning to fade already."

Dean chuckled and put on a high-pitched voice. "I had the strangest dream, and you were there, and you," he pointed accusingly at Sam, his voice dropping to normal, "but not you!"

Sam got to his feet, with a tired groan and dusted down his jeans. "All right, _Dorothy_. I'm off to bed, unlike you I've not slept for a solid forty-eight hours."

Dean laughed. "Yeah. It _was_ a strange dream, it was..."

He smiled over at Castiel before turning back to the others.

"...magical."

Rowena quirked an amused eyebrow at Sam, who returned an equally unsurprised look.

**_"We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are" – Sirius Black, 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix'_ **

**THE END**

(;,;)


End file.
